Unarmed, Unprotected, and Underdressed
by mighty-battle-maid
Summary: She survived completely on her own in a world she barely understood. Until she makes the grievous mistake of ambushing a certain company of travelers, and suddenly the world becomes a whole lot bigger than she could ever have imagined. Rated M for violence, some sexual in nature.
1. Braids

_Hello everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at fanfiction. Hopefully it doesn't turn into a complete monster. I've got quite a bit planned: it begins in "The Ring Goes South" in _The Fellowship of the Ring_ and will continue through one of the endings of _The Return of the King_. __I'm basically adding a new character to the story, so if that's not your cup of tea, this may not be for you. This is the story of a girl coming to know the worlds around her and within her set in the context of the Lord of the Rings. I hope you enjoy it._

_Also, I'm not Tolkien and thus own nothing but the one character I made up._

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Her mother used to braid her hair for her when she was young. Big, thick braids, little tiny braids, overbraids, underbraids, long, straight braids, inverted braids winding around the head—her mother had taught her all that. She braided her own hair now, wrapping it around and around her head and leaving a thick plait hanging down her back. It made an excellent bludgeon. She kept it like this most of the time, coiling the tail up while she slept out of the fear that a passing traveler might notice it hanging down. She tended to sleep rather lightly, awakening at even the quietest of treads passing underneath her. If it were a lone traveler, she might ambush him then and there, but she rarely had the courage to take on multiple foes at once, preferring to wait for them to fall asleep and then rob them quietly and disappear into the night.

The group of nine moving south below her had been loud enough to wake the dead, but they were moving incredibly fast; she was having quite a bit of trouble keeping up with them, clambering through the trees as she was. _They're in an awful hurry, _she thought grumpily to herself as she fought to keep up with them. A group that large was intimidating to raid: wake a single one of them and it could quickly turn to a nine-to-one battle. But she was desperate.

Once upon a time, people had travelled through these woods almost constantly, but the flow had slacked off inexplicably over the past few years, and she had not seen anyone at all for over a month. Winter would be setting in soon, and she had naught to wear but the piece of leather she used to bind her breasts securely to her chest and a skirt that had gotten shorter and shorter over years of tearing it on branches and using it for bandages. She found that heavy clothing made it awfully difficult to dodge attacks in the times in which she failed to stealthily abscond after robbing someone, but she'd rather not freeze. Also, she'd been living for nearly a year without a knife-didn't anyone carry them anymore? Apparently these travelers did...in fact, they seemed rather well-armed, she noted in the brief moments in which she could look down.

There were three men, as far as she could tell in the darkness, one appearing to be quite old; in addition, there were a dwarf, an elf (she would have to be careful of his keen senses), and four odd creatures that were similar in height to dwarves but more alike in their proportions to men. She had plenty of time to ponder what they could be and why she had never previously encountered them as the party continued to travel with scarcely a pause all night.

They finally came to a halt around dawn. Her stomach growled smelling their lovely sausages; she wondered how many she would be able to steal that day. She was absolutely famished. With so few travelers from whom to pilfer food, she was having to rely more and heavily on hunting, which was rather difficult without a knife, and her meals were becoming disturbingly few and far between. Hopefully, that would all change today.

She was rather dismayed to see that they set a watch, but that at least left only one person between her and food and supplies, and thankfully that was the rather oblivious dwarf. The elf would have been far more difficult to sneak attack. She was not opposed to killing in order to get what she needed, but it was strictly for cases of emergency: this was definitely an emergency. She could try to knock the dwarf out, but one noise too loud and she would have ruined the entire operation. No, she would have to break his neck, quickly and quietly. Then, she could stash one of their knives on her body and dash away with as much food as she could carry...this would be difficult, especially working during the day. But she had no other choice. A leap ever so slightly forward from the limb she was perched on would leave her quite close behind the dwarf without being so close he'd notice. She hoped. She gave her arms a brief stretch before jumping forward, and, turning a quick flip to try to calm her pounding heart, landed silently behind him. She crept up close, trying to find the precise positions of the hands for the most efficient death she could deal, but just as she was about to reach forward and deal it, she heard a quiet chuckle from behind her.

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_Please be gentle with reviews! xx_


	2. The Captive

_Alright, time for some actual interaction with original LOTR characters! I'm still definitely not Tolkien, so I only own my OC._

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She froze. Had one of them awoken? Or was she not the only one planning on robbing this party? Should she try to see who was behind her, or should she take her chances and run for it? Before she could begin to decide, her body seemed to gain a mind of its own, and she spun around, only to find an elven arrow pressing to her throat. Well, shit. She really hated elves and their ridiculously keen senses, precise aims, and…cowardly inner natures. Just because she owed her existence to an elf didn't mean that she had to act like one.

The elf peered at her from behind his bow, looking confused and slightly amused. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly, but he was not so quiet as not to be heard by the dwarf, who let out a yelp and presumably turned around behind her. This was sufficiently loud to begin to rouse the entire party. Her heart was in her throat as they began to rise, realizing what was happening and surrounding her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, but her mind started racing. How could she possibly get out of this fix? She could probably outrun all of them, but she couldn't run faster than an arrow. If she could only somehow disable his bow…

"Well, what have we here?" came a deep voice from her right. She was terrified to turn her head lest the arrow be released, but she peered out of the corners of her eyes to see that the speaker was the elderly man, whom she now noticed sported a rather long grey beard. Odd, the things one notices when under a great deal of stress. She also noted that he held a staff in one hand, though it was not pointed at her (yet). She thought she could see the glint of another weapon in her periphery, but she dared not turn her head to see.

Her observations were quickly interrupted by the elf, who said, "Some sort of thief, it appears." He looked at her. "Were you trying to rob us?" he snapped. "Speak quickly."

She tried to say yes, but the word died in her throat, letting her emit nothing but a scared squeak. Her heart was flinging itself against her ribcage, and her stomach seemed to have dropped through her feet. She glanced down at the arrow still pressed close to her throat. The elf seemed to understand at least part of her fear, taking a few steps back, though he did not relax his bow. She tried to breathe. When was the last time she had spoken to someone other than herself? She sometimes spoke to the animals she hunted, but she rarely spoke to the people she attacked, and never about her intentions. She tried and failed again to say yes and settled on a quick nod. She was having trouble breathing again. Stop panicking, she told herself. You can get out of this. Because you have to. She took a deep, shaking breath and, trying to harden her gaze, managed to speak on the third try. "Y-yes, I was." She lifted her head high. "And if you care about not losing any members of your party, I would advise you not to try to kill me."

No sooner had those words left her mouth than the elf tightened his grip on his bow, and she remembered that no matter how cocky she acted, he could kill her in an instant. She had no idea how to talk her way out of this. Almighty Valar, he was going to kill her, and honestly, she probably deserved it. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Did that elf just split himself into two? The ground swirled as it rushed up to meet her.

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The first thing she noticed when she awoke was that she was on the ground. What was she doing down there, unprotected and vulnerable? Adrenaline flooded her veins and caused her to spring to her feet, and something heavy, rough, and very obviously textile slid off her. Confusedly blinking in the light of early morning (not a time she was used to being awake), she slowly began to make out the forms of many figures standing around her in the woods. Surrounding her. The second adrenaline jolt of the morning brought back her memories of what had caused her to pass out. The elf. Where was he, with his deadly bow? Why was she even alive right now? What might they have done to her while she was unconscious? She blinked a few more times, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the light. Directly in front of her was a towering figure that slowly resolved into the tall, thin old man with his long grey beard, wearing a heavy grey cloak and a matching pointed hat. He was, oddly, smiling at her. She frowned; the adrenaline had not entirely shaken the sleep out of her mind.

"We are not going to harm you," he told her gently. Yeah, sure. "But what is it that you were after?"

"I…uh…food," she replied simply, figuring there was no point lying. "And a knife and perhaps a winter cloak. But first and foremost food." She had gone for longer than a day without food before, but that did not diminish the sharp ache in her belly that made her want to double over and cry rather than hunting or scavenging.

"So you are nothing more than a low, lazy, greedy thief?" roared a voice to her left. She turned to see a very regal-looking man wearing heavy armor bearing a white tree and carrying what looked like a full arsenal on his body.

"A thief, yes," she replied, "but an honest one. And certainly not lazy. Or greedy." She scowled, feeling the anger bubbling up. How dare he insult her! "Better than being a rude, cruel, piggish, cowardly man!"

She instantly regretted those words. Men were easily wounded by words, even more than she was, and despite their promise not to harm her, anger could easily get the better of them. She was unsurprised, therefore, when the man at whom she'd snapped lunged forward to strike her. She was, however, astounded when someone she had not previously noticed between this man and the old man grabbed his arm to hold him back. "Patience, Boromir," came the voice of what she now noticed was a man who gave new meaning to the word "grimy." His hands, face, and hair were varying levels of dirty, and he was clothed in a dark cloak that did not entirely hide the enormous sword at his hip. He did not look as…kingly as the man he had called Boromir, yet he seemed grand in his own way. "It's not worth it," he finished. That comment stung worse than a slap across the face.

"Watch your tongue, woman!" snapped Boromir, though he lowered his hand.

She knew no good would come of it, but she couldn't overcome her vexation at these men's belief in their superiority and her worthlessness. "Only if you watch yours."

Boromir looked even more enraged, but the grimy man caught his wrist in a gesture that clearly showed who was in charge. He turned to the grey-bearded man, saying, "I have heard of a menace that keeps most travelers out of this land. Many have reported supplies and livestock disappearing in the night; some have entered these woods and never left. Perhaps she is it."

The old man looked intrigued, but Boromir laughed out loud, saying, "An unknown menace? This insolent little girl?"

The "little girl" had heard enough from him. She snapped. Throwing her weight forward, she smashed her fist into his nose. Boromir staggered backwards, clutching his face as blood began leaking out between his fingers. He stared at her in shock, as did—she glanced around—the rest of the party, though the old man still looked more intrigued than shocked.

"What should we do with her?" the grimy man asked the old one.

"Let's just tie her up and leave her!" roared the dwarf from behind her. Her eyes widened. Tied up? Left? It wouldn't be two days before another man found her bound and decided to have a little fun, that is, if she didn't die of starvation first.

"No, we cannot leave her," sighed the old man. "If an agent of the enemy were to find her, the secrecy of our mission would vanish. No, she must come with us."

Her eyes widened further. It was evident that she had no say here, though of course she would tell no one of their whereabouts if they set her free. Not that there was anyone to tell.

"All right," came a voice from about waist-level to her right. "Shall we be going now?" It was one of the little folk who had spoken, and she noticed with surprise that he seemed to command the respect of all eight of the others, despite his size. Puzzling. What was also bizarre was that none of the small folk seemed to be wearing shoes, but all four had rather luxurious hair on their feet. Shoes, that was something else she'd need for the winter. She didn't really fancy her toes freezing off, and as they set off, she contemplated how the little ones' toes didn't freeze in cold weather. She would have plenty of time for contemplation in the coming journey.

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_Please don't kill me for making Aragorn "the grimy man!" It was inspired by my mom's comments upon finally consenting to watch the movies with me. It seems logical, though, considering how well he can blend in with the woods. But don't worry, they'll be polite enough to tell her their names once she becomes bold enough to actually talk to them. _

_Reviews are appreciated! xx_


	3. Recollections

_WARNING: Horrible, horrible violence in this chapter. Read at your own risk. You have been warned. _

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She was exhausted. A full night of walking was nothing terribly strenuous, but an entirely restless day spent on the ground full of nerves and fear of falling asleep and putting herself in a compromising position had left her completely wiped out. The old bearded man had assured her that no harm would come to her from within the company, but what reason had she to trust his words? She'd had enough experience fighting men who had tried to bait her by telling her that they could keep her safe and make her happy that she generally assumed they were lying, and this man, for all his sincerity, was no exception. So she had sat against a tree, nodding off occasionally only to jerk back awake in terror any time one of the company snorted or shifted, careful to avoid the gaze of each watch as they took turns throughout the day. It had been during the grimy man's watch that she had been pleasantly surprised to hear a quiet singing emanating from the tree with which he had managed to blend in so well she could barely make him out. She had not been able to make out the words, but some long-lost instinct told her that his was not a happy song, but one of love and of loss and of something grand just beyond her comprehension. It had intrigued her to no end.

She didn't have much opportunity to muse on love songs, however, as she stumbled along the next evening, forcing her eyes to remain open through sheer willpower. She had no idea how she would continue to avoid sleeping and its associated vulnerability, but she was resolute that she would not let herself be violated in any way.

The second day was, predictably, a thousand times worse than the first one. She was twice as exhausted as she had been the day before, and she felt as if every single muscle in her body was on fire. She had not gone for this long without stretching in over fifteen years, and she was sure that if she did not open up her muscles and joints soon, they would simply refuse to move at all. She hunched in the position that seemed least conducive to sleep, with a branch jabbing into the small of her back, and tried to focus on the stabbing in her stomach that had barely been alleviated by the scanty supper a few hours before. Simultaneously, it seemed, the day dragged by in an eternity of torture, and the night rushed in, bringing with it the pain of hauling her tired body upright, trying to relax her stiff back through a few toe touches and backbends, and trudging on through the new agonizing rhythm of her life.

Looking back, she would never be able to say for sure how she got though the first few days of her journey with the company. Her state could best be described as delirium, nights spent forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, days spent awake, first in fear of her captors, then through force of mind as she slowly forgot everything but her determination. She felt as if she had been dragged into a waking nightmare, and nothing changed until her fourth night of captivity, though she had already lost count. She had gone for nearly a hundred hours without so much as an hour of continuous sleep, and she could barely see to attempt to walk. She could feel her body somewhere wobbling back and forth across the path, but she could no longer control it, and some part of her mind dimly began to register that this had been a terrible mistake and she was now more vulnerable than a few hours of sleep would have made her. After all, anyone coming near her would immediately wake her, right? She would have to sleep come morning…if she could get up…but she was still falling into deeper and deeper blackness.

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_The young girl clambered higher and higher in the branches of the enormous willow tree, giggling at the way the leaves tickled her bare feet. "Look Mama, look how high I can get!" she called down to the woman on the ground before once again launching her slender body upwards through the branches._

_"Wow, Beinedhiel!" came the distant response. As the girl moved to higher and narrower limbs, she heard a cry of "Please be careful!" from the ground below. Of course she was being careful, she was thirteen years old now, she knew how to take care of herself. She was in heaven, up here in the sky. She swung her body lithely between the boughs, eventually coming to a halt in a rather wide fork between two branches. As she settled down, straddling one of the limbs, she heard her mother's voice again. "Come on down, sweetie, it's high time we got the move on."_

_"Just another minute, Mama!" Beinedhiel replied indignantly. She'd just gotten here! Didn't her mother understand how hard this was?_

_Her mother never replied. In a moment, Beinedhiel understood why when her sharp ears picked out the rustling in the underbrush nearby. Her mother's voice wafted up to her. "Who's there?" She heard the note of panic that usually only came out when her mother had just come back from getting supplies from a settlement and they were about to run for it. She had never been to a town. Maybe now that she was older, her mother might take her._

_Beinedhiel was just wondering if they would have to run again when another voice spoke, male and distinctly unpleasant. "Well, what do we have here?" it said. "Could it be? Our little cheat?" Beinedhiel's blood boiled at anyone calling her mother a cheat, and she decided that maybe she ought to move a little lower to see what was happening on the ground. Her mother had always told her to stay out of sight of anyone besides her, but Beinedhiel was not about to leave her mother to deal with this liar on her own. She slowly and silently lowered her body down branch by branch until she had a view of the scene below._

_There were, in fact, two men, one on either side of her mother, and both leering at her mother in ways that made Beinedhiel's blood run cold. But what could she do? The men were big; it would be out of the question for two small women to try to fight them off. Beinedhiel watched helplessly from behind her screen of willow leaves while the men advanced on her mother, eyeing her up and down. In a flash, they had her on the ground, and one of the men had shoved the other away, snarling, "She's mine first! You can have what's left when I'm through with her." What happened next shocked Beinedhiel so much she nearly fell out of the tree: the man snatched her mother's dress right off her! She watched, transfixed with horror and terrified of making a sound, as the man fumbled at something at his waist, then fell on her mother, shoving his body up against hers again and again with grunts and groans while her mother lay below him with nothing but a grimace. The man eventually gave what seemed to be a full body shudder and rolled away, looking utterly spent. Beinedhiel wondered what in the world he had been doing to exhaust him so, but the second man was now approaching her mother, who was lying on the ground with her eyes closed, looking tiny and absolutely pitiful. She had never seen her mother so completely defeated, and that scared her even more than the present threat of the two attackers._

_The second man had fallen on her mother, shoving himself on her as the first man had, but he had not been at it for a minute before he shrieked, "No fun! She just lies there. Come, friend, let us make her squeal!" The first man, seemingly recovered, sat up with a look of childish glee, and, to Beinedhiel's horror, began to strike her mother. _

_Even from up in the tree, the sickening crack was unmistakable when one of the blows landed hard on her mother's elbow, bending it the wrong way, and the responding scream was heart-rending for Beinedhiel, who was sure the situation could not be worse. She was wrong, of course, as the man still on top of her mother pulled out a long and cruel-looking knife. "Would you rather have this inside, hm?" he snarled at her mother, who had frozen at the sight of the knife._

_"No…please…" her mother sobbed, beginning to writhe and try to throw him off her, though it was hopeless. Beinedhiel could not see the man's face, but she imagined it held a nasty sneer as he pulled himself off the helpless woman and drew the tip of the blade down her body. Beinedhiel's breath was frozen in her throat; she couldn't move as the man suddenly shoved the knife between her mother's legs, then pulled it out briefly before thrusting it back in even harder. Blood spurted across the ground as her mother screamed louder than ever, and still Beinedhiel remained transfixed against the tree trunk, her mother's screams surrounding her, filling her, penetrating her to the bone._

The screams were coming from her, and her eyes flew open to see the ground as she found her body contorted into an unnatural resting position on top of something rocking horribly below her. Adrenaline shot through her body, bringing her back to reality with a jolt as she realized that her worst fears must be coming to pass. She would fight them over this. She would rather die than be violated in that worst of ways. She tried to flip off of whoever was rocking below her, but she could not seem to find his end before losing her balance and rolling right off it, landing on the surprisingly faraway ground with a thud. She staggered to her feet and looked around, trying to comprehend the pony right in front of her and nine astonished faces staring at her.

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_Reviews are always appreciated! xx_


	4. Caradhras

_Guess what I wrote over the summer and still like enough to post! School has taken up most of my time and energy, sadly, so it might be a while before I get the next bit written. Especially because I'm having to go through the books to be as accurate as possible. Hopefully my characterizations are still on point. Always love to hear what y'all think!_

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"N-nightmare," she stammered in an attempt at explanation. It seemed enough for the old man, whose confused expression immediately gave way to a kindly smile.

"They happen to all of us, my dear," he said, moving forward to put a hand on her shoulder. She shrank away. "What did you see?"

"Did it have anything to do with Sauron?" piped up the dwarf.

"Quiet, Gimli," hissed the grimy man next to him.

She wondered why in the world they would think she had dreamed of the dark lord who had fallen; she began to fear she had indeed been captured by the worst sorts of people if they had anything to do with him. Was the mission she had heard mention of something to do with bringing him back into power? She sincerely hoped not. She set them straight about her dream, at least, saying, "It is a nightmare that has plagued me since my youth. I am climbing a tree when–"

"A little girl's nightmare, nothing more!" barked Boromir. "Why do we continue to burden ourselves with her?"

She felt her body go tense with anger. If they did not care, then fine! Why even bother asking? Feeling the old man's piercing gaze, however, she got that feeling that he, somehow, understood that what she had dreamt was far from child's play. It was her life.

"Tell me," he said suddenly, smiling a warm smile that held the wisdom of many years. "What is your name?"

Her heart leapt. In her entire life, no one had ever asked her that. Her mother had known it, of course; no one she met had ever seemed to wonder. It was her one great secret, but she was more than happy to share it. "Beinedhiel," came out in barely more than a whisper. She cleared her throat and spoke again with more assertion, "Beinedhiel." She noticed out of the corner of her eye that both the elf and the grimy man gave a start upon hearing her, but she was too excited to wonder why.

"Well, Beinedhiel, welcome," smiled the old man. "And rest assured," he sobered, "no harm will come to you from this fellowship." Though she could not understand why, some deep part of her trusted him. "We rest here," he announced to the rest of the group. "This evening, we make for the Redhorn Gate."

Beinedhiel was astonished to realize they had in fact come to the edge of the forest at the base of an enormous red mountain (how long had she been out?), but her astonishment soon turned to annoyance as the company began spreading out and setting up camp. The old man's promise had helped her confidence come back. She was not going to be their little pet female. "Oi," she yelled, causing all to turn about again. "You did not tell me any of your names. That's hardly fair."

"I am known to most as Gandalf the Grey," the old man told her, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "These are Aragorn, son of Arathorn"—the grimy man smiled and bowed his head at her—"Boromir of Gondor"—he nodded curtly—"Legolas of Mirkwood"—the elf inclined his head, seeming to give her a scrutinizing look—"Gimli, son of Gloin"—the dwarf bowed low—"and Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, hobbits of the Shire"—the four halflings gave each other glances before sinking into awkward bows—"and this Company journeys on a mission of both great urgency and secrecy," finished Gandalf. Though she was mildly annoyed at not being entrusted the purpose of their quest or their destination, Beinedhiel couldn't help beaming. Perhaps these travelers were different from those she usually encountered.

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When they set off up the mountain that evening, Beinedhiel could not have been in better spirits. Her back still ached from having slept on the ground, but her muscles felt loose and relaxed after her stretching the previous evening and then in the afternoon, much to Boromir's amusement. It had been a rather painful stretching session after several days of letting her muscles go stiff, and apparently her grimaces of pain were funny, though she thought that her trick of bringing one leg straight up to almost touch the back of her head while standing had wiped the smirk off his face. She wondered at Boromir. Did he truly take no woman seriously? Did she somehow pose a threat to him? She figured her best course of action was to avoid him; his companions would probably not take too kindly to her throwing another punch his direction, as much as she longed to knock some sense into him./p

They climbed higher and higher as the night wore on. Beinedhiel had quite enjoyed herself at first. In stark contrast to the members of the Company, she was a natural at clambering up the steep rocks, and she found the crisp, clear mountain air more refreshing than even a good sleep, but as the stars slowly crossed the sky overhead, she found herself shivering. However, it was when the stars started winking out one by one that she grew truly nervous, and when the first flakes of snow started falling, her disquietude blew up into real panic. She still wore only a skirt that barely reached halfway to her knees and the top half of a corset that she had stripped off the still-warm body of one of the few female travelers she had encountered: these were hardly fit for keeping her alive in the snow!

Beinedhiel scampered up the rocks alongside the path in order to reach Gandalf at the head of the group, hoping that he did not want her to freeze to death any more than she did; indeed, she had barely caught up to him when he turned to her knowingly, saying, "Bill is carrying a few spare winter cloaks, though they may not quite fit you." At her look of confusion, he quickly added, with a smile, "Bill is the pony."

Beginning to shiver violently, Beinedhiel stumbled as quickly as she could back to where one of the hobbits (try as she might, she still had trouble keeping track of who was who) was leading the pony. The first cloak she snatched seemed like it might fit Gimli: though it was quite short, it was so wide it easily fell to her calves. She tried to hold it close about her, though this hindered her agility quite a bit, but then, in a stroke of brilliance, she unwound her hair from the braid around her head and, as quickly as the numbness creeping up her fingers would allow, braided the back into one long rope that she knotted around her waist. She left the front of her hair down in the hope that it would help shield her face from the wind, but she quickly realized this was a poor idea as the snow melting in her hair quickly turned it into a soaking mess. She had bigger problems at the moment, however, as the snow was now ankle-deep, and her entire feet were rapidly going numb.

Beinedhiel nearly bumped into poor Bill and realized that the company had come to a halt; as the wind died down, she could make out why. "…they say in my land that he can govern the storms in the Mountains of Shadow that stand upon the borders of Mordor," Boromir was saying. "He has strange powers and many allies."

"His arm has grown long indeed," came a gruff voice that she recognized as Gimli's, "if he can draw snow down from the North to trouble us here three hundred leagues away."

"His arm has grown long," repeated Gandalf.

_Whose arm?_ Beinedhiel wondered to herself. Since Boromir had mentioned Mordor, she supposed they must mean Sauron, the dark lord that her mother had told her stories of when she was young. The story always ended with him falling, however; why in the world would they think the weather had something to do with a power long dead? At that point, however, the company started off again, and Beinedhiel hastened to catch up with them, stumbling clumsily on feet that were now completely free of sensation.

It did seem as though the storm was somehow alive, for now that they had begun moving again, the snow came down with greater force than before, and it seemed as though the wind was shrieking, screaming past the rocky face to their side, giggling uncontrollably through the gullies. It was now blowing Beinedhiel's hair in every direction, and she hastily tried to tuck it into her makeshift belt, but as she did so and took a step forward, her foot sank through deep snow (had she been walking on top of it before? She hadn't looked, and her feet certainly couldn't feel the difference), her ankle twisted, and she fell face first into the snow. Spluttering, soaking, and starting to shiver heavily, she shoved herself up onto her knees and silently thanked the Valar that the Company had stopped once again. She heard Boromir yelling something about fell voices on the air (what a silly boy, though she secretly agreed with him), but for the most part she didn't give a damn where they were going or what their quest was. She was completely frozen, chilled to the bone, colder than she had ever been before in her life; numbness crept up her legs and across her hands, and she didn't care what the others wanted, she was could not keep going. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep, and why not? Here seemed as good as anywhere. She untied her braid from the cloak and did her best to get her body entirely inside it, distantly noticing that she had stopped shaking, trying to stop the swirling, already feeling the blissful darkness creeping in the corners of her mind.

Just as she was about to drop off into slumber, she felt, very distantly, the gentlest tug on her knee. No, wait, that was her shoulder. Beinedhiel figured she should probably figure out what was wrong with her, only she couldn't be bothered to care. All she wanted to do at the moment was sleep. Suddenly, a jerk on her legs—yes, those were definitely her legs—brought her back to awareness as she felt herself dragged through the snow, which was pitching and rolling around her. She was suddenly painfully aware of her heart trying to burst through her ribs, and a sudden nausea came over her. She coughed and retched and tried to struggle against the horrible spinning, but her limbs suddenly felt very far away and made of lead. As though she were buried somewhere deep inside her body, she watched rather than felt it slam into something very solid. She tried to cling to it to steady the whirling around her, but she could barely even breathe, much less feel whatever she was trying to hold onto, and her heart seemed to be giving random, overwhelmingly powerful leaps.

Before Beinedhiel had time to think, she was scooped up with such alarming suddenness that she began to retch anew, and she could barely take in breaths in short gasps as her heart thumped in her chest with sickening irregularity, the ringing in her ears drowning out even the wailing wind and the incoherent shouting. A liquid poured into her mouth, and while a tiny part of her feared poison, most of what little of her brain could think thought it would be best to swallow; however, her body decided for her, violently ejecting the liquid all over her face, where it froze. More liquid quickly splashed into her mouth, and this time she fought the heaving with all the strength she had left, finally succeeding in swallowing. A warmth burned its way down her esophagus and outwards; it lightened her heavy limbs, restarted the beautifully rhythmic beat of her heart, cleared her mind of its confusion and dizziness and her stomach of its sickness, and set her skin ablaze. Beinedhiel found herself held uncomfortably close by Boromir, with her fingertips and feet still on fire, but for a moment she rejoiced in the pain and discomfort because the clear sensations meant she was alive, whereas the muddied dizziness mere moments before she now understood meant a closer proximity to death than she had ever experienced.

The spell was broken a moment later when Boromir began to unwrap the sopping cloak from around her. "Oi!" cried Beinedhiel, struggling against his hands, "Don't you dare!" She tried to slip out of his grip, but he held her fast.

"You fool," he replied, trying to force her arm out of the sleeve, "you will freeze again in this wet garment! Let me give you a dry one."

Beinedhiel felt her arms go slack at the realization that even an idiot like Boromir might be trying to help her rather than take advantage of the situation. Something other than the potion warmed her heart. She knew that she would never have helped him had he been the one to attempt robbing her; she would have killed him, although she was beginning to understand why kindness was something desirable. Her mother had been kind.

Her eyes were burning, but Beinedhiel was shocked out of her thoughts by the freezing air and flakes of snow hitting her skin as the wet cloak dropped heavily off of her. The coldness did not numb her skin, for the elixir, whatever it was, still flowed through her veins; her legs had feeling restored down to the ankle, but her feet still burned and itched unbearably.

Wonderful as this sudden restoration of sensation was, the potion had not made her entirely resistant to the cold, and, quite involuntarily, she huddled against the only source of warmth, Boromir. Presently, he flung a new cloak over her; it was cold, but it was dry, and she rolled up in it, rolling out of his arms and tumbling into the snow in the process. She curled on herself inside the enormous cloak, tucking her burning feet in between her thighs and realizing with a jolt just how frozen they were.

Huddled under the cloak, feeling the heat slowly leaving her despite her best efforts (she had even unbraided all of her hair in order to use it as a sort of shawl), Beinedhiel wondered if the effort to save her had been worth it. Was this where she was to meet her death, surrounded by nine more-or-less strangers in a blizzard on the side of a mountain? The wind seemed to be picking up, muffled as it was by the cloak; it seemed to form words again, shouting something about fire…no, wait, those were actual voices. Beinedhiel peeked out from her little nest. Sure enough, Aragorn knelt in the center of the circle the Company had formed, attempting to get some kindling to light. He failed. As she watched, both Legolas and Gimli tried after him, but, though Gimli managed to get a piece of kindling lit, all of their attempts were eventually thwarted by the freezing gale. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she could be of some use to these men who had treated her far more kindly and even respectfully than any other men she had ever come across.

Shaking the snow off herself, Beinedhiel rose to her feet and crossed the outcropping on which they had paused, noticing that if she stepped incredibly lightly she could stay on top of the snow, rather than sinking into it. She pulled her arms through the sleeves of her oversized cloak, pushed her hair back without bothering to secure it, and silently reached for the tinderbox from an extremely irked and tired Gimli, who frowned at her but entrusted it to her a moment later. Getting the tinder to light was not so difficult, she found; the tough part was the kindling, which was not so easily persuaded. She tried and tried, but the wind blew her flame out every time, and she consequently tried with more and more frustration and desperation. Finally, when she reached for more tinder and realized there was none, she began to panic. Not only had she failed to repay their kindness, she had doomed them by running them completely out of tinder!

_Focus,_ Beinedhiel thought to herself. _There is always a solution, you simply must find it. Think._ She thought. She thought hard, and a solution flew into her mind that seemed like sheer brilliance at the time, though it was truly a last-ditch attempt that she would soon come to regret. Flinging her hair over her shoulder, she lit a spark onto the ends of it, which immediately erupted into a bright flame shielded by her own body. She held a small stick in the flame, and soon enough, the kindling caught. Excited by her success, Beinedhiel quickly shoved her hair into the snow to extinguish it, and, not paying careful attention to her stance, sank deep into the snow, overbalanced, and reflexively threw both hands forward, dropping her lit kindling in the process. The small flame went out immediately.

"Melkor be damned!" cursed Beinedhiel, barely registering the mixed shock and amusement on the faces around her. Much to her embarrassment, she felt hot tears streak down her face and quickly freeze. She wiped at them furiously. She had failed. It did not even matter that all the others who had tried had failed; by the very fact that it was hers, her failure was far worse than all of theirs combined. She was so consumed with feeling completely and utterly useless that she barely noticed Gandalf lifting a stick high and muttering incomprehensibly to his staff, but she did not miss the burst of blue and green flame that came out of the wood when he shoved the staff into it.

"If there are any to see, then I at least am revealed to them," said Gandalf the sorcerer. "I have written 'Gandalf is here' in signs that all can read from Rivendell to the Mouths of Anduin." No wonder he did not want to be found, Beinedhiel thought. If she had such powers, she too would avoid all who might want to exploit them. But who was he, possessing such gifts?


End file.
